Before The storm
by DirewolvesandGriffins
Summary: Before she was the Hero of Ferelden, she was simply Miora
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 _Haring, 9:20 Dragon_

Winter had come to the Free Marches.

The city of Kirkwall sat beneath steely grey clouds that threatened to add to the blanket that already covered the ground. The streets were vacant, no one daring to venture outside, save the unfortunate merchant's assistant who had forgotten to lock the stall and the pious few who trudged their way through knee-deep snow to attend morning services at the Chantry. The Rest of the city took shelter indoors; those in Lowtown huddled around their hearths or warming themselves with cheap whiskey at the Hanged Man, while the nobles of Hightown barricaded themselves inside of their manors, a fire roaring in every available room.

It was in one such estate that Miora Amell sat, gazing out of the window of the Amell estate's study. Sighing, she leaned back in her chair and glanced over at the clock in the corner of the room, groaning softly when she saw that it was only part way through the eleventh hour.

"Miora, are you done with those lines yet?" snapped a voice from across the room

"No Sister Beatrice," Miora replied, "but I'm almost done."

"Well hurry along then. We still have to cover arithmetic, and if we do not get to it by the end of this hour then you will have extra problems next week."

Miora glared at the back of the woman's head before looking down at her paper. The parchment was covered in her awkward scrawl, barely legible lines copied from the Canticle of Transfigurations, and she had to squint to even be able to make out a few bits and pieces. Dipping her quill in the inkpot, she glanced over at the copy of the Chant lying open beside her.

" _Many are those who wander in sin, despairing that they are lost forever._

 _But the one who repents, who has faith unshaken by the darkness of the world,_

 _And boasts not, nor gloats over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight in the Maker's laws and creations,_

 _She shall know the peace of the Maker's benediction."_

"Miora!"

Sister Beatrice's voice sounded in her ear and she sent the inkwell at her elbow falling over. Dark ink seeped across the desk soaking her lines as well as the Chant of Light, the pages of the old tome absorbing the ink. Before she could make a move to clean up the mess, a sharp pain hit her as the back of her head was introduced to Sister Beatrice's measuring stick.

"Stupid girl," the priestess ranted, grabbing the ruined book off of the desk, "do you have any idea how long this copy of the Chant has been in your family? It was given to your great-great grandfather's father on his son's naming day, and now you've ruined it!"

"I-I didn't mean to," Miora argued, eyes watering, "you scared me and my arm slipped!"

"Honestly, it was bound to happen," Beatrice scoffed, "you never pay any attention to anything going on around you."

"But-"

"Just wait until your mother hears about this. I wouldn't blame her if she has you locked in your quarters until you can act like a functioning person-"

"It was a MISTAKE!"

Suddenly, Sister Beatrice let out an earsplitting scream before throwing the Chant away from her. Miora watched as flames devoured the tome, astonished as the pages turned to ash before her very eyes.

"You!" Sister Beatrice exclaimed, her features twisted in rage, "you would dare attack one of the Maker's servants, _burn the Chant_ to cinders!"

"I didn't do anything-"

She was interrupted with a fist to the face, sending her to the floor.

"Silence Mage! I shall not listen to your lies." Beatrice hissed, grabbing one of the candlesticks off of the mantle

Miora looked up just in time to see the candlestick coming down before a horrible pain exploded in her head and she was plunged into darkness.

Miora awoke to something scurrying over her legs. A large _furry_ something. She screamed, shooting to her feet and sending the creature flying a few feet away from her. The rat hissed before vanishing into a hole in the wall. Catching her breath, Miora looked around and managed to make out a few barrels in the dim lighting, as well as a few sacks of what seemed to be grain. She ran her hands along the walls, jerking away when she realized that they were covered in a thin and wet coating of sludge. She was in the cellar, though she could not remember how she got there. The last thing she remembered was Sister Beatrice coming at her with the candlestick. She winced as the pain in her head pulsated, and she sunk to the floor.

After the pain had subsided, she made her way over to the cellar door and pushed against it, only to find it barred from the outside. Growing panicked, she threw herself against the door over and over before crumbling to the floor in a sobbing heap.

 _Where is Mother?_ She thought, pulling her knees to her chest, _she must be wondering where I am by now._

Her stomach growled loudly, reminding her that it had been hours since breakfast. Around now, she would be bothering the kitchen Elves for sweets, keeping on until they rewarded her persistence with a piece of pumpkin bread and milk.

She was pulled from her thoughts of food by noise outside of the door. The door to the cellar opened and there stood her mother as well as her cousin Leandra, her uncle Aristide and a group of guardsmen.

"Mother!"

Miora launched herself forward; only to be propelled backwards with so much force that she would have fallen had Leandra not reached out to steady her.

"Revka!" Leandra exclaimed, "How could you? She's still your daughter-"

"She is no child of mine," Revka replied icily, " this _mage_ is an affront to the Maker. My daughter died the moment that book burst into flames. The only reason I'm here instead of with my children, is because we can't keep it in the cellar forever."

"Cousin, you cannot be serious-"

"Enough!" Aristide interrupted, glaring at the two women before turning his gaze on Miora, "Child, can you tell me what happened this morning, during your lessons?"

"Well…I was writing my lines, and I accidently spilled some ink. But only because sister Beatrice startled me! And then ink got all over the Chant of light and she started yelling at me and she hit me in the back of the head!" Miora felt her face flushed with anger at the injustice of earlier, "She just kept yelling and yelling, even though I said I was sorry a million times. Then…Then the Chant got caught on fire. I don't _know how_ , but it did. Sister Beatrice got really mad and hit me in the head with a candlestick. I- fell asleep, I guess, because I woke up in the cellar. And a rat ran over my legs!"

Aristide sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, "That's what I thought."

He knelt down so that his eyes were level with hers before continuing, "Do you know why the book burst into flames?"

"I said I don't-"

"And I believe your child, but I will tell why it did. You are a mage, Miora. Do you know what that means?"

Miora stared at him, her eyes growing wide. A mage? Her? That couldn't be right. Mages were not eleven-year-old girls, they were evil blood mages who summoned demons and killed people. She couldn't be a mage.

"No, I'm not." She said, glaring at her uncle, "there's no way I could be. I'm good."

He sighed again, shaking his head, "I know you are Miora. Now, how about you go up to your room while your mother, Leandra and I talk hm?" he glanced over at the guards, "please escort my grand-niece to her room. Oh, and get her a cup of warm milk and some of that nut bread she's so fond of."

Leandra waited until the guardsmen had led Miora away before rounding on Revka.

"Maker's breath Cousin," Leandra swore, "What has that woman been teaching her?"

"The truth, Leandra." Revka replied

"She is a child! _Your child_ , and you are perfectly alright with her being locked away for the rest of her days and believing that she is cursed by the Maker?"

"It's for her own good, Leandra." Aristide interjected, "As well as for the good of the public. She needs training and the mage Circle is the only place for her to get it. As for believing herself cursed, that is sure to pass in time. Miora is a smart girl, she will see that whether her magic is a gift or curse depends upon her."

"I still do not see how you could do it. I would never allow my child to be taken from me. By the Circle especially, Revka, don't you know what goes on in the Gallows? The Templars are known to do awful things to the mages, the _female_ mages in particular. Is that what you want for your daughter?"

"Those are vicious rumors and you know it, Leandra," Revka snapped, "the Templars do their duty to the Maker by keeping the mages in check. They would never forsake their vows to lie with one."

"Oh, is that what we're calling it now," Leandra hissed, her eyes shining with unshed tears, "how can you be so blind?"

"Leandra," Aristide put a hand on his daughter's shoulder, "please calm down."

"Father please, you cannot let her be taken there. I understand that she must be trained, but can she go to a circle outside of Kirkwall? Surely, you could speak with the Knight-Commander and ask for her to be sent elsewhere?"

Aristide looked down at his daughter and then over at his niece, "What do you think Revka? Miora is your daughter, after all."

"I do not care where she is sent, so long as she is out of here." Revka said, turning to leave, "now, if you will excuse me, I must tend to my children."

Leandra watched her go, holding back the urge to drag her back by her hair. Taking a deep breath, she turned to her father.

"So, will you do it?"

He nodded, "I shall speak to the Knight-Commander in the morning. Pray that he is in a listening mood."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 _Haring, 9:20 Dragon_

 _The Gallows_

Knight Commander Henric was sitting at his desk when Aristide arrived the next morning, pouring over pieces of parchment scattered over his desk and looking rather harassed.

"Good morning Knight Commander."

Henric looked up from his papers, one eyebrow raised slightly, " Lord Amell? What business do you have in the Gallows?"

"May I sit down, Knight-Commander," Aristide said, "I've had a rather long night."

"Of course," Henric replied, motioning for Lord Amell to take a seat in the chair across from him.

Aristide sank into the seat, smiling slightly at the amount of paperwork on the Knight Commander's desk.

"Busy Morning, Knight Commander?"

"You Have no idea," Henric answered, " Twenty new apprentices this month. At this rate, we won't have room to house Kirkwall's mages."

"Funny you would mention that, Knight Commander," he replied, a slight smile playing on his lips, "I have a favor to ask of you, concerning one of Kirkwall's mages."

"And what interest do you have in Kirkwall's mages? Who are they?"

"She, Knight Commander."

"You know the girl?"

Aristide nodded, "She's my niece."

Back at the estate, Miora paced the length of her bedroom, back and forth, back and forth until her legs grew tired. It had been almost two hours since the guards had taken her to her room, refusing to explain what was happening even though she demanded to know. It wasn't _fair_ , just because stupid Sister Beatrice had lied to her uncle, Mother was cross with her and she was being locked in her room even though she hadn't even done anything.

Flopping down on her bed, she gazed up at the ceiling where a mural of Andraste's ascension to the Maker's side had been painted. She stared into the martyred prophet's eyes, noting how sad she looked. She had never noticed that before.

 _Well_ she reasoned with herself, _if you had just been set on fire and then stabbed in the heart you wouldn't be too cheery either._

Sighing, she flipped onto her stomach and turned her attention to the tray of pumpkin bread left by the servants earlier. Beside that sat a mug of warm goats' milk. She took a bite, watching the seconds tick by on the clock. Suddenly, the sound of a key turning in the lock pulled her from her thoughts.

The door swung open and her mother and uncle filed in, flanked by three men in metal suits with a flaming sword emblazoned on their chest plate. They peered down at her from slits in their helmets. Almost immediately, she knew that something was amiss.

"Uncle, what's going on?" she inquired never taking her eyes off of the men, "who are they?"

"These are Templars, Miora," Aristide replied calmly, "they have come to take you somewhere where you can be with other children like yourself."

"No," the words came out in a terrified whisper as she scrambled backwards.

"Now child," Aristide said, slowly stepping forward, "calm down-"

"You're sending me away aren't you?"She accused, eyes narrowed, "You said you understood. You _lied._ "

"Miora, you have to be trained. It's for your own good." He said, taking another step towards her.

"No, please. I- I'll be good, I promise. I won't use magic ever again. _Please._ "

Despite her promises, as panic overtook her, sparks began to dance at her fingertips, magical energy emanating from her as her emotions took over. The Templars moved in, hands on the hilts of their swords.

"Come quietly mage," One of them said, "and we promise not to hurt you."

She raised her hands, continuing to move away from them until she felt the wall at her back. Her eyes darted around the room, heart hammering against her ribcage as the Templars drew ever closer. It wasn't until one of them reached out to grab her that a burst of energy and flames shot from her hands, sending the Templars closest to her flying, the skirts of their uniforms aflame. The third Templar managed to avoid the flames, but his head hit the wall with a sickening _thud_ as his helmet caved in and slumped to the ground. Her mother screamed, fleeing the room. Only her uncle stood, eyes wide as he surveyed the damage. Their eyes met for a moment before she turned and ran.

She didn't have any idea where she was running to until she found herself standing at the ladder that led into the wine cellar. Quickly, she half climbed, half fell down the ladder. Once her feet hit the floor, she knocked the ladder to the ground and hurried away from the light of the kitchens and deeper into the darkness of the wine cellar. Eventually, all sound from the estate faded away, replaced by crushing silence, broken only by the occasional scampering of rats in the darkness.

 _Maker help me,_ She thought, groping around in front of her, _I've escaped the Templars only to starve to death in the cellars._

As she continued to walk, every minute felt like an hour and she could feel panic setting in once more. She even tried to conjure up some fire to light her way, but had no idea how she had managed it in the first place. The only sound was that of her bare feet on the stone floor and her own breathing, as well as the faint squeaking of rats.

Finally, bits of light broke through the darkness and the floor began to slope. She stumbled slightly, making her way downward until she found her path blocked by a wooden door. Light trickled through the cracks in the wood and she could hear voices on the other side. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw only darkness.

 _No turning back now._

She pushed against the door, and felt it give a bit. Another push sent some dust falling from the ceiling and onto her head, the wood groaning in protest against her weight. Taking a deep breath she drew back, and threw all her weight into the door. The wood splintered and she burst through, falling about a foot into a foul smelling puddle.

"Now, what we got here?"

Miora looked up to see two boys, about seventeen, looking down at her. One was pale and freckled, with long red hair while the other a head shorter and fat with a mop of dark curls.

"Looks like one of them highborn girls," said the fat one, nudging her with his foot, "look at her dress. All done up in lace and whatnot."

"That true," demanded the redhead, "you highborn?"

Miora stared up at the two, frozen as they closed in on her. A yelp escaped her lips as she was yanked to her feet by the fat boy and shoved into wooden beam.

"Search her, she prolly has some coin on her," he said

"Get off of me." She shouted, pushing him, "I don't have anything!"

"Fancy girls like you always have something on them," said the redhead, "maybe its under those frilly skirts."

He swore when her foot connected with his privates, doubling over in pain and howling. A fist to her stomach sent her to the ground, gasping for breath.

"You little bitch!"

A kick to the ribs was followed by another, and then another until she lost count. Eventually, she just closed her eyes and prayed for it to end. Suddenly, the kicks stopped and loud cries of pain filled the air, punctuated by the sound of something swinging through the air and connecting with the boys' bodies.

" And don't you ever let me see your sorry hides around here again!"

Miora opened her eyes to see a young girl standing in front of her, armed with a piece of pipe. She was about fifteen, with large mossy eyes and wild golden ringlets that fell down her back. Freckles were sprinkled across her nose and cheeks. She was a tiny thing, thin boned and not an extra pound of flesh to be had. The points of her ears stuck out from beneath her hair when she brushed a few stray pieces from her eyes.

"Are you ok?" She asked, extending her hand to Miora.

She frowned when Miora flinched away from her. Sighing, she pulled her to her feet.

" You know, you're lucky I came along when I did." She said, "Them two are bad news. Would have robbed you, raped you and slit your throat for good measure."

She stepped back and looked her over, "How old are you?"

"E-eleven."

"And what, in the Makers name, is some highborn like you doing in Darktown? You got a death wish or something?"

" I can't go home. The Templars-"

"Templars?" the girl's face was clouded over by some emotion that Miora couldn't place. Then, it was gone just as quickly. "We have to get you out of here. You're coming with me, understand?"

Miora nodded.

"So kid, you got a name? I'm Leanna."

"Miora. Miora Amell."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 _Haring, 9:20 Dragon_

 _Darktown_

"Now, we're gonna have to get you something to wear."

Miora looked down at her gown, now muddy and torn, "This is all I have."

Leanna smiled, shaking her head, "I have some things that should fit you. Of course, I don't know what we're going to do about your hair."

Miora touched her snowy locks, which had escaped her ribbon, "what are you going to do to it?"

"I don't know, but I can't leave it as is. You'll stick out even more than you would in that dress. The Templars will be on the lookout for a little white haired highborn, so we'll have to do something about it."

The two girls moved through the streets of Darktown, Miora following close behind Leanna while trying to take in all the sights and sounds around her. Beggars pulled at her skirts, asking for coin, groups of people huddled in corners and trading flasks and coin. Others just sat, propped up against bits of architecture, staring off into the distance.

After what seemed like a lifetime, they arrived at a structure made of dirty cloths draped over four stone pillars. Drawing back the "door" Leanna motioned for her to enter. Miora stepped inside, and sat down on the least dirty looking cushion she could find. Leanna walked over to a pile of clothing, picking through the pile until she found what she was looking for.

"Here, try these on for size."

Miora took the clothes from her, a pair of boys' trousers and an oversized tunic. She dressed quickly, pleased that the pants fit her, even though the tunic continued to slip off of her shoulders. Leanna found her a belt, allowing her to cinch the material around her waist.

"There, you could almost pass for a commoner," she said, smiling at her handy work, "now...about your hair."

Leanna pulled a small knife from her pile and motioned for Miora to sit down in front of her. Miora did as she was bid, and closed her eyes as Leanna gathered her hair and began to braid it. Once that was done, she ran her blade through the white locks and tossed half of the braid over her shoulders. The rest fell to her ears in choppy layers.

"Well, it's a start. Come along."

Miora followed her out of the makeshift shelter and through the winding streets of Darktown until they came to a merchants stall, manned by an elven woman with the tip of her right ear missing. Intricate tattoos swirled over her face and her brilliant green eyes narrowed as Leanna approached her stand.

"Blondie, what are you doing this deep in Darktown?" She said, "and with a baby Shem?"

Leanna met her gaze, arms crossed, "I saved her from Terrence and Leroy. She's a mage, on the run from the Templars. I need some of that ironbark dye that you keep, to darken her hair."

"And what makes you think I'll give it to you. You don't have anymore coin than any of the other wretches in this shithole."

"You'll be giving it to me," Leanna shot back, "because if you don't, you'll be finding someone else to retrieve debts for you, now won't you?"

"Any gutter rat will do that for me-"

"And come back alive? I doubt it. I'm the best thief not already working for the Coterie and you know it. Now, all I need is a small bottle and we'll be on our way."

The woman sighed, before reaching into the folds of her dress and retrieving a smile bottle of a sludgy brown colored liquid and thrusting it into Leanna's hands.

"Take it then, brat, and I expect to see you here bright and early next week for your assignment."

" Sure thing Miss." She replied, "Thanks again!"

Before she knew what was happening, Miora was being rushed along once more, this down another tunnel that ended near a broken pipe that was spewing brown water.

"Ok, come here. Hopefully the dye will take quickly and it won't hurt too bad."

Miora sat between the older girls legs and let her pour the dye over her head, coating each strand in the substance. The odor turned her stomach, rotten cabbage and sour milk. Soon, however, the smell was the least of her worries. Her scalp began to smart, and then burn until it felt as if her whole head was aflame. Despite her tears, Leanna insisted that she keep it in for at least another two minutes. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, she was allowed to shove her head beneath the pipe and rinse the mixture from her hair.

"Well," Leanne said, looking her over, "its not quite as dark as I wanted, but no one will recognize you. Oh, and if anyone asks you your name, its Talia. Understand?"

She nodded, "I understand."

"Good lass," Leanna replied, "well, lets get a move on shall we?"

Later that evening; the two sat in Leanna's tent, eating a roasted hare that Leanna had "liberated" from the Hanged Man. The girl had boasted of how she had swiped it from some drunkard's plate and vanished into the night before anyone was the wiser. Miora wasn't too sure that she completely believed her, but it made for a good story.

Leanna was like nothing that she had ever encountered before. All the elves that she knew were quiet and meek, eyes always to the ground and trying to blend in. Leanna was proud and fiery, unafraid of anyone or anything, more like the Dalish that her nanny once told her stories about than any of the elven servants that worked for the city's nobility.

"Is there a reason you're staring so hard at me?"

"Why are you in Darktown," Miora inquired, "why don't you live in the Alienage with the other elves?"

Leanna sighed, putting aside the piece of wood she was using as a plate, "Lot's of us live in Darktown, and not all elves live in alienage's you know."

"Yes, but at least you could live in a house." Miora pointed out, "or you could join the Dalish and live out in the woods. At least it wouldn't stink so badly."

"I lived in a house once," said Leanna, "me, my ma and my little sister Fallen. We lived in Lowtown in a cozy one room house, ma worked for some noble and I watched after Fallen. That's how it was, until one day, when everything changed."

"What happened?"

"I was playing outside with Fallen, chasing after her, and she fell. Banged her knee up pretty badly and started crying as loud as a dying cat. Then, her hands started to glow green and her knee was all healed like-"

"Magic." Miora whispered, staring at her own hands

"Yes, magic," Leanna, replied, a flash of pain crossing her face, "one of the guards saw and went to fetch a Templar. Ma, she arrived at the same time they did. They tried to take Fallen and Ma fought them, fought them with everything that she had. They gave her a sword through the gut for her trouble and dragged my sister away. I never saw her again."

Miora stared at her, wide eyed, "That's awful."

"Aye, it was." She said, her gaze hard, "and now I live here. That's my story. Maybe we should be calling it a night, don't you think?"

Later that night, Miora fell into a restless sleep with dreams filled with screaming women and men with bloody swords.


End file.
